


Things Have Changed for Me, and That's Okay

by LizzieHarker



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Baking, Bookstores, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Sarcasm, Schmoop, Slow Burn, This is the Bakery AU you didn't ask for but got anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHarker/pseuds/LizzieHarker
Summary: After his life completely derailed, Bucky Barnes found himself with 1) his bff as a fairly permanent roomie, 2) more types of therapy than he bargained for, and 3) an inherited hoarder's nest that was at some point a bookstore owned by his aunt. Where's Matt Paxton when you need him? A lot of elbow grease and several dumpsters later, Buck has a new project and maybe a business, and with any luck, a reason to get up in the morning.Having retired from the military, Steve Rogers decided to pursue culinary school. A fairly lucrative side hussle selling pastries netted him enough to rent a storefront of his very own. After his first customer turns out to be an accident prone CPA, Steve wonders whether this was actually a good idea.Until he catches sight of the hot guy next door...
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Maria Hill, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 27
Kudos: 114





	1. From A Dumpster in Red Hook

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I'm so far surviving the pandemic despite being a retail employee (wear your mask, social distance, wash your hands). Thank you to everyone who's binge-read ...like my entire body of work. I see your comments and your kudos. <3 It's a little moment of joy in a shitstorm of a year. Let me real with you, dear readers: I am tired. T I R E D. Some people are thriving; I am not. So I'm hoping posting this will be.. fun? Cause I miss fun. I don't feel fun, but I'm gonna try. 
> 
> That being said, this is not remotely edited even a little. It updates whenever. I'm making no promises. Stay safe. Follow the CDC recommended guidelines. Wear a mask. Hopefully, I'll speak to you soon.
> 
> xo L

Inheriting a hoarder’s nest had never so much as graced Bucky’s list of Things He Wanted to Do in Life. He’d loved his Aunt Rosie, but opening the door into a what had once been a bookstore turned death trap was just another plot twist in the shit-sandwich of the last three years. Thankfully, his best friend had been willing to risk life, limb, and mental stability in order to help Buck clear building and no one had been murdered by creepy porcelain doll or crushed under a mountain of canned vegetables from 1949. The upstairs wasn’t exactly livable, but the plumbing worked, and that was something Buck would be grateful for forever.

Of course, emptying the space had been step one. He wasn’t so keen on step two. Step two involved inventory, and point of sales stuff, and furniture… probably. And figuring out how to run a business. No matter how often Clint reassured him that “he’s got this,” Buck felt very much the opposite. The whole deal made him anxious.

But Clint stood there grinning at him, polishing the antique brass cash register he’d fitted into the the checkout counter. Buck had always been a sucker for details and the etching on that thing was all gorgeous scrollwork and deco flair.

“You ain’t careful, I’m gonna marry you,” Buck teased. He got a noisy kiss on the cheek for his trouble and a delighted laugh. Clint Barton wormed his way into Buck’s life one week at a summer camp and they’d been best friends since. There was nothing one wouldn’t do for the other, including impulsively attempting to start a business. If Buck were honest, he knew Clint had been gently pushing him into a project as means of distraction. He rolled his left shoulder, flexing his fingers before adjusting the brace.

“How about you pop over to that new bakery next door and get us some breakfast before we figure out how to set up a bookstore?”

Clint saluted him and backed out the door. Buck stepped back and surveyed the place. The slick iPad based point of sale and inventory management Clint arranged, the boxes of books waiting to be sorted and shelved, the out-of-the-box IKEA furniture—minimalism was in, Clint said—and the couple of smokey candles burning on the table (because anything smelled better than whatever long ago died in there) and you know, with a little paint it didn’t look half bad.

Then there was the name. Clint asked what they were gonna call the place and Buck shrugged and answered, “No idea.” When the sign showed up, he’d nearly choked on his bagel. Then the arrow arrived. It pointed at the sign of the bakery next door, and though neither of them had met the owner, it was clear naming things wasn’t his area of expertise. What the fuck was Commandoughs? 

No Idea.

Steve expected a lot of things on his first official day of business: snotty hipsters, screaming children, potential oven fires, that swoopy feeling of ‘oh God, was this a good idea?’ Hell, he’d anticipated no customers at all, but the guy currently staring at his menu board with a wide-eyed, blank expression took him by surprise. He’d been standing there for five minutes, eyes tracking back and forth over the menu.

“You . . .you sell coffee, right?” the guy asked. By the look of his mussed blond hair, fading black eye, and the bandage over the bridge of his nose, Steve guessed he needed caffeine, or a better sense of self preservation.

“Yes?” That shouldn’t sound like a question. Of course he sold coffee. It was on the menu board. “You know what you’d like?”

The guy arched a brow. “Board says you have weird, artisanal flavored stuff. I want to know if you have coffee. Plain. Black. Like my heart.”

Steve blinked. “Uh, sure, pal. Plain coffee. Size?”

“Yes.”

Okay, then. Steve turned to the coffee machine. Opening a bakery had been a drastic change from his time in the military, but a good one, he hoped. Less battlefield, more brioche, though he’d named his bakery Commandoughs for a reason other than the groan-worthy pun. Okay, mostly for the pun. Indulge in a hobby, his buddy Sam had said. He knew getting out wasn’t easy, but distractions helped with the whole ‘reintegrating with society’ thing. Selling small-batch pastries had eventually led to getting a storefront, and well, he’d set up shop in Red Hook. 

He capped the largest coffee cup he had and turned back to find his customer glaring at the pastries. Who glared at cake? “Getcha something else?”

“You don’t have pie. Your sign says ‘Pie Hard’ above the dessert selection—which I appreciate, I really do—but there’s no pie.”

Oh, shit. He knew he’d forgotten something. “They’re baking. Pies take time.”

Bandage guy stared at the case for another long minute before straightening up. “What do I owe you?”

“Uh, four bucks?” Steve took the offered cash and passed the coffee over.

“Only got one buck, but here’s the cash. Thanks, beard guy,” he answered, raising the cup. Steve watched him get halfway to the door before stopping and turning back around. “Ah, shit, I forgot. Distracted by the not-coffees. You got lemon bars?” Steve opened his mouth, but the guy continued on. “What color are they?”

“Pale yellow,” Steve answered. This guy was either gonna be his best client, or his worst. He’d already claimed the weirdest.

“Awesome. Barnes’ll love ‘em, then. Lemon square and”—he narrowed his eyes at the board again— “and one of those fancy Earl Grey latte things. Please.”

“You got it.” 

Baking’s easy, he’d said. People love sweet, they love savory. Steve had fond memories of baking with his ma as a kid, even if he’d been sick most of the time. He rubbed his right arm, the sleeve of his shirt rough against his skin.

“So, busy day?” Steve asked.

“Depends how good this coffee is,” the guy answered, grinning. He took a sip and nodded. “Very busy. You got any idea how to set up a bookstore?”

“Can’t say I do.” He secured the lid on the latte, set it on the counter, and bent to pull the lemon bar out of the display. The bag crinkled as he slid the pastry inside. “Tea and a lemon bar. Six dollars.”

Bandage guy whistled. “With those prices, you’re either gonna make a killing or have to file bankruptcy. You need a CPA? I’m a CPA. Numbers are kinda my thing.”

There was no way in hell this guy was an accountant. Steve kept his expression neutral. “Maybe. This is only day one. Gotta see what happens.”

The guy reached into his pocket and flicked a business card in Steve’s direction. “Good luck, Beard Guy. Catcha’ round!”

Steve waved as the guy hip checked the door, the bell giving a tiny jingle. He glanced down at the card: Clint Barton, CPA. Sure, anyone could print anything on a business card these days, and how the hell did an accountant wind up with a black eye and a busted nose?


	2. Disarming and Charming

Steve casually rolled over, soft sheets slipping from his torso and the pillow shifting beneath his head, languidly stretching his arm to smack the ever-living shit out of his fucking alarm clock. Why in hell had he gone with the jarring BOMB ABOUT TO DETONATE screech instead of the nice calm tones of whatever wind chime nonsense had also been an option?

Oh, yeah, cause he’d slept through that one. He shoved the clock off the nightstand; it hit the carpet with a muffled thunk. Getting up before dawn had never been the best part of the job, baker or Captain. Maybe that whole choice of wake-up method had something to do with it. Steve scrubbed his hands through his hair as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He recoiled—the edges of the damn alarm clock bit into the sole of his foot, and he kicked toward the other side of the room. No way this was gonna work, Steve decided. New alarm clock. 

But first, breakfast

Stumbling into his kitchen, he set the coffee machine to brew. Breakfast, at least, he could do on autopilot. Eggs. Bagel. Orange juice. After a couple minutes, Steve’s brain came online. Half way through his bagel, he reached for the notepad and pen on his small table. As much as Steve hated waking up early, he enjoyed planning out the next week’s menu and ingredients list. It had been Sam’s idea to bake things in miniature: easy to bake, easy to take to go, easy to clean up. DumDum should already be downstairs working on his sourdough.

A fond smile fixed itself to Steve’s lips. Okay, yeah, Commandoughs was a stupid name, but it was a stupid name honoring his team now that they’d all retired from military life. Hell, Steve had been shocked when all of them agreed to help out with the bakery. It left him with a warm feeling in his chest, knowing the guys still had his back.

Steve left his dishes in the sink and went through the rest of his morning routine before heading down the back stair and into the embrace of freshly baking bread. DumDum insisted on wearing his bowler into the kitchen, and Steve had to admit it suited the look.

“Morning,” he said, opening the fridge to remove the trays of breakfast cookies. He’d prepped almost everything last night and left it to chill. They were only open from 7am-2pm, but filling a pastry counter required a lot of work.

“Morning, Cap,” DumDum answered. “First batch is baking, second batch is proofing.

The smile stayed on Steve’s face as they worked and chatted. The storefront was pretty small, with three tables and two small bars sets against the windows, but it was his, thanks to Gabe’s internet sleuthing and a killer deal on the store and the upstairs apartment. He doubted he’d have gotten as far without the man. He’d also designed Steve’s website, business cards, and signage. Steve could draw, but he couldn’t code for shit.

He’d just slipped into the back when the bell on the door chimed against the glass. He glanced at DumDum; the clock over the ovens read 6:30am. Steve wiped his hands on dishtowel and poked his head out into the main space. A figure bent close to the pastry case, wearing black pants and a black Henley, brown hair tied up in a small bun. Steve opened his mouth to mention they weren’t open when a pair of storm grey eyes met his and every word Steve had ever learned went right outta his head.

Buck stared at the menu board in more or less of a fog. What the hell had Barton gotten him the other day, and did this place just do tea or was he gonna have to order something weird just to get enough caffeine in his system to make sure he didn’t get lost on the subway or fall asleep during therapy? He’d moved on to the practically empty pastry counter when the kitchen door snicked open. Buck turned; a tall blond with a nice beard Buck would have to appreciate when his brain came fully online peered out at him, clearly startled.

“Hey,” Buck started, hoping he didn’t sound like a garbage disposal.

“Hi,” Mr Handsome said, stepping fully out of the doorway. “We don’t actually open for another half hour…” he started, trailing off.

Buck blinked and checked behind him. The CLOSED sign was facing him, meaning OPEN pressed against the glass on full display. So he’d thought it was a little dim in here, but—

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt the whole baking… thing,” he replied, waving a hand absently.

Mr Handsome’s lips quirked up. “Must have flipped the sign by accident. What can I get for you?”

_Your number_ , Buck’s brain answered. Wow. Sleep deprived and no game. Excellent. “Tea?” he asked instead. “Earl gray or chai?”

“You want it sweet or spiced?”

Oh yeah, Buck felt off his game. Damn 6 AM alarm. “Surprise me.”

That smile got a little bigger, and damn, that guy was handsome. Buck leaned against the counter, arms folded as the man brewed his tea.

“Anything else? Breakfast cookie?”

“The hell is a breakfast cookie?”

He chuckled. “Oatmeal base, cranberries, banana, chocolate chips.” Mr Handsome turned back and set a cup on the counter. “Cream and sugar is on the little island. If you want to sweeten things up.”

Buck managed what he hoped was a smirk. He paid for his drink, and, not trusting himself to flirt properly on an empty stomach, walked over to the little table, popped the lid off his tea, and tried to keep Handsome Bakery Guy from noticing the three sugar packets and considerable amount of creamer he dumped into the liquid. He had a sweet tooth, okay? With a salute, he exited the bakery.

The first sip of his tea had him walking right back in and straight toward the slightly started blond. His brain finally connected to his mouth. “What is this?”

Mr. Handsome blinked. “You said surprise you. If you don’t like it, I can make you something else.”

“I’m pretty sure this is best thing I’ve ever had and the earl grey latte I had the other day was damn delicious.”

Another smile curled across the man’s face, shining in his blue eyes. “Pumpkin chai. Less name brand latte, more caramel and cinnamon. Little bit of lemon peel.”

Buck pointed. “You. You make a damn good cup of tea. Makes me feel a little less bad about sort of breaking in to your bakery.”

The laugh Buck got in return shot right through him, leaving him kinda warm and tingly in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. “With a review like that, I could be persuaded to open early just for you. I’m Steve.”

“James. Friends call me Bucky.”

“Yeah?” That grin shifted into a teasing thing and Buck ate up every inch of it. “What do you want me to call you?”

Bucky’s brain provided a list of answers, none of which were appropriate before 7AM. Instead, he smirked, raised his cup, and walked back out the door. “Catch you around, Steve.”

He couldn’t help the little wink he happened to throw in Steve’s direction. That guy might be one of the most gorgeous people Buck had seen, and suddenly getting up before sunrise wasn’t so bad. Mussed blond hair, a handsome smile, those goddamn _shoulders_. How’d that guy fit himself into a medium t-shirt? Not that Buck was complaining cause that guy cut a fine line and with the apron accentuating his waist? Pastries weren’t the only eye candy in that place.

Buck smiled to himself and sipped his tea. A couple blocks from his therapist’s office, he even tried holding the cup in his left hand. What used to be the most natural act in the world made his stomach drop with nerves, but he made it a couple minutes before the tremors started. Luckily, there wasn’t much left in the cup to scald him if it sloshed.

Switching back to his right hand, Buck shook his left out before opening and closing it a few times. Maybe sticking all his appointments on one day hadn’t been the best of ideas, but at least the bookstore was closer than his apartment. He needed to get a couch. Or a bed. Between the physical therapy and the shrink, it’d be a miracle if he didn’t have to call Barton to come get him.

At least he’d started his day with the best damn tea he’d had. Maybe tomorrow should be the same.


	3. Bad Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Are you in the US? Are you of legal voting age? Are you registered to vote? Make sure you're registered for your county or state, request your absentee ballot ahead of time OR make a plan to safely vote in person, early if possible! Wear a mask, social distance, fight fascism. <3

The bell over the door gave a soft chime as Buck entered the bakery. He’d come by early every morning for the last week, with Steve leaving the door unlocked but the closed sign turned. A burly man with an impressive mustache and bowler hat slid a pan of muffins into the glass case before offering Buck a cheerful smile.

“Morning, stranger. The usual?”

Buck chuckled. Steve had made him something different every day, which Buck found damn impressive. “Cream of Earl Grey, please, extra shot of vanilla.” He watched the man fiddle with the tea and get it steeping. “Where’s Steve? You let him sleep in?”

“Couldn’t sleep in if he tried. He’s in the back waiting on another batch of breakfast cookies. Delicate things, breakfast cookies. They’ll burn if you’re distracted,” he added, sly.

Really now? Casting a glance at the kitchen door, Buck leaned into the counter, resting his chin on his fist. A couple butterflies kicked around in his gut. He’d be the first to admit he’d lost his edge for flirting and sure, he could be reading too much into it, but the did take to leaving the door open for him. “That right? Well, can’t say I dislike the change of company. You’re the bread guy, yeah?”

He opened his arms, gesturing to his flour dusted apron. “Guilty. Tim Dugan, but most people call me DumDum.”

“Ah, a fellow member of the ridiculous nickname club. I’m James, but most people call me Bucky.”

DumDum blew out his cheeks in sympathy and shook his head, setting Bucky’s tea in front of him. “Lemme know how it is. How they get Bucky outta James?”

“Middle name’s Buchanan. Hey, I gotta ask,” Buck said, glancing again at the kitchen door before heading for his usual table. “What’s up with the name? 

“I’m sure there’s a great drinking story, but DumDum just kinda stuck, probably because Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan is the dumbest name a bastard could have.”

Buck winced. “Holy shit. My condolences. But uh, I meant what’s up with Commandoughs?”

A deep laugh shook DumDum’s frame. “You want that story, you gotta buy me a coffee.”

“Deal.”

“Cap got attached to my unit of misfits when we were all in the army. We’re affectionately—and not so affectionately—known as the Howling Commandos.” He launched into a series of stories, wild hand gestures and all, from before Steve joined their ranks and after. Buck ate up every word until DumDum sat back, smirking. “Infamy is everything.” 

Buck couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “That’s the greatest fucking think I’ve ever heard. And the other guys are all involved?”

“Yup,” DumDum said. “Got a guy with a family farm out in Fresno, and Jacques shows up every other Saturday because us Americans can’t make a decent croissant. So far, we haven’t set anything on fire.”

The rebuttal stopped short as Buck opened his mouth and the kitchen door opened, delivering the warm scent of cinnamon and a flustered baker. DumDum sat back and looked at Steve. “Bout time, Cap. Been keeping your gentleman caller company.”

A soft thud sounded from behind the case as Steve racked up the breakfast cookies. Buck tried to keep from smiling; that sound had been Steve’s head hitting the top of the case. Steve straightened and dusted off his apron before smiling at Buck. “Good morning. Tim get you your tea?”

Buck raised his cup in answer. Could be the lights, but it that faint color on Steve’s cheeks had to be a blush. He tried not to feel smug. “DumDum ain’t half bad at making tea. Shame you keep him in the back. He’s fun.” Buck winked at DumDum, a sly smile tugging up one side of his mouth.

DumDum laughed again and stood up from the table. “It’s been a pleasure, but I got a sourdough back there needing my attentions.” He moved behind the counter, slapping Steve’s shoulder. “I like that guy.”

Buck didn’t catch Steve’s reply, turning to his tea. A few seconds later, a plate appeared in front of him with a steaming blueberry muffin and a little pat of butter. Steve took DumDum’s seat. “On the house. I’m trying out a new recipe.”

“Yeah?” He prayed Steve couldn’t see his mouth watering. Damn, that muffin smelled delicious; he could practically taste the crispy sugar topping and his willpower was rapidly waning. “Wanna split it with me?”

Steve hesitated for a moment before reaching for the plate. He picked up the little butter knife and Buck thought he caught a glimpse of ink as Steve’s sleeve rode up. Hot, excellent at baking, tattooed? Yes, please. He silently prayed that watching Steve butter his muffin was more euphemism, less literal. It’d been a long time since Buck felt even a remote interest in someone and then this guy shows up and suddenly James Buchanan Barnes is a morning person showing up early just to flirt with said guy.

The soft smile on Steve’s face damn near melted him as they both reached to break off a piece. Buck fought the urge to moan, the tart blueberry and the sugary sweetness perfection on his tongue. It took a solid minute to remember how words work. “I think you have a winner.”

“I’m hoping so,” Steve answered.

Outta nowhere, Barton threw himself into seat beside Buck, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Hello, muffin!”

Buck sigh. “You talking to me, or my breakfast?”

“Both? Can it be both?” Barton asked, picking a chunk of muffin off the plate and proceeding to make the same orgasmic sounds Buck had repressed.

“Remind me why I like you?”

“Don’t like me. Love me. And it’s my winning personality, humor, and nice ass.”

Buck rolled his eyes. “Stop eating my breakfast and get your own.” He looked up at Steve, who’d moved away from the table, a small polite smile on his face.

“Aw, but sharing is caring, Buck,” Barton whined.

“I’ll get you a coffee. The usual?” Steve offered.

Barton looked up at Steve, cheeks chipmunked out. He nodded, swallowed, and added, “And one of these?”

Steve smiled and stepped back behind the counter. Buck took the distraction to snatch the rest of the muffin away. Barton shrugged and glanced out the window. He furrowed his brow.

“You forget about the electrician, Buck?”

Tucking the plate close to his chest, least Barton try anything, Buck turned to follow his line of sight. A man stood outside the book shop, a tool box in the hand he wasn’t pressing against the window to look inside.

“AW SHIT. Gotta run, love you. Thanks, Steve!” Buck yelled, bolting out the door and already apologizing to the man he’d kept waiting.

Steve had soaked up as much information about Bucky Barnes as possible over the last week. He owned the bookshop next door, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. The way Buck half-smirked did bad things to Steve’s ability to focus. He liked his tea sweet, but enjoyed the smoky Russian blend with tart cherries Steve made for him when Buck said ‘surprise me.’

Buck having a boyfriend was obviously not on Steve’s list, and he hoped he’d managed to hide his disappointment. It wasn’t a new scenario; flirting with guys was always hit or miss. Was he being nice, or was he interested? Buck had flirted with him, but he’d also flirted with DumDum and that was fine—really—so maybe he flirted with everyone? Nothing wrong with that. 

He capped Barton’s coffee and plated another muffin for him and dropped both at the table. “Getcha anything else?”

Barton practically embraced the coffee cup, pressing it against his cheek before taking a drink. So the disaster CPA also held immunity to hot beverages. Noted.

More people began trickling in. Barton inhaled his muffin and dropped the plate on the cleaning station before leaving the money on the table and shooting Steve a wave. Steve waved back, deciding he’d probably never understand that guy but at least he kept things interesting. 

Steve spent his day largely running the register while DumDum kept him supplied with fresh bread and pastries. The great thing about having a small establishment was no one questioned the limited availability of baked goods and once they sold out, the day pretty much ended. He closed up shop around 1 or 2 in the afternoon. They did the majority of their business in the morning anyway, so it all worked out.

Which explained his surprise when a knock came at the door at 2:15. Steve stood from his crouch where he vacuumed out the pastry case to see a stressed looking Bucky standing at the door, Barton beside him. Steve stepped from behind the counter and opened the door. “Hey. Everything okay?”

Bucky had a desperate look in his eye. “If I ask nicely, can you please make me some of that lavender earl gray?”

“And coffee?” Barton added. “I’ll drink the whole pot if I need to.”

“You don’t need to,” Buck answered, side-eyeing him. “You never need to.”

“You know I love coffee. Greatest love of my life.”

“Really know how to make a guy feel special, huh?”

Steve chuckled. “C’mon in.” Bucky immediately slumped over his usual table. “I take it things didn’t go so well with the electrician?”

“Never inherit a hoard, Steve,” he mumbled.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Barton said.

Buck glared at him. “They found fabric in the walls, Barton. Paperwork. Photographs. The whole thing coulda gone up if the wiring went bad and someone flicked the wrong switch.”

Steve brought over the coffee pot, the tea kettle and two mugs. Barton slide his hand between Bucky’s shoulders and Bucky sat up straighter. “Sounds like a mess.”

Sighing, Bucky reaching for the kettle and the mug. “You have no idea.” He poured himself a cup. Steve slid the sugar and creamer over. Barton wrinkled his nose and drank his coffee black. “My Aunt Rosie left me the place. Barton and I have spent the last six months clearing the place out. There are a couple apartments upstairs left to go, a little structural damage to repair, and I’m still deciding what to do with the place.” A soft smile spread across his face. “Rosie had a bookshop back in the day. Ran it with her gal pal, if you know what I mean.”

Steve nodded. “Just gals being pals.”

“I always liked Aunt Rosie best. But when her partner died, she started collecting things. I’d go over when I could, but then I was off at college, and… Shoulda visited more.”

“Aw, Buck,” Clint said, putting an arm around him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I feel a little bad, complaining. Wasn’t her fault. She never told me how bad it was, so no way I coulda known. I just wanna drown my sorrows before I get the bill,” Buck said, raising his cup. Barton leaned in toward Buck, and Buck leaned back.

A small, sad sound rose in Steve’s throat. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to deal with, but at least you have someone to lean on, right?”

“Yeah. And—“

“HOT BUNS, COMING THROUGH!” DumDum shouted, carrying a tray of bread from the kitchen to the serving counter.

Buck smirked. “Yeah, they are.”

DumDum winked at him. “You bet, pretty boy.” He shucked off his oven mitts and came over to join them. “Can’t get a bite of those buns without taking me out to dinner. Or at least buying me a coffee.”

Barton squawked as Bucky offered DumDum his coffee pot. “RUDE.” Buck blew him a kiss. “I thought you loved me!"

Steve chuckled, a little confused. But yeah, he’d been right; Buck flirted with everyone. “How’d you two meet?”

“Summer camp,” they said at once. Buck shook his head. “Barton fell out of a tree and into my lap and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

DumDum cocked a brow. “What were you doing in a tree?”

Barton opened his mouth, but Bucky immediately clamped his hand over it. “No.” Eyes wide and innocent, Barton tilted his head and Bucky recoiled. “UGH! That’s gross! What did I say about licking me?”

“Long, firm licks only.”

Buck smacked Barton’s shoulder and wiped his palm on his shirt. “I don’t know what I see in you.”

Steve watched the troublesome look rise in Barton’s eyes, comment perch on his lips, when Lady Gaga started singing from his back pocket. Bad Romance. Ironic. He fumbled it out of his pocket. “Aw, meeting, no,” and before he could set the coffee mug down, he was out the door. 

Buck sighed. “He’ll bring it back.” He finished his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you check your voter registeration? You ready? Good. Cause Nov. 3, we're all voting like our lives depend on it. Because they DO. The LGBTQIA+ community, BIPOC, your chronically ill and/or disabled siblings, women, people with uteruses, children, your lives, my life: all on the line. Make a plan. Be safe. VOTE.


	4. Nostaliga

A month later, Buck and Steve had fallen into a steady routine of early morning flirting, with DumDum joining in occasionally. He’d never been a morning person, but his recent inability to sleep through the night at least meant he felt human enough for a half hour of unabashedly checking Steve out uninterrupted. And thanks to the couch he’d acquired for the back of the shop, naps were readily available. Of course, there would be no naps today because Bucky found his fine ass hip deep in the second upstairs may-at-one-time-have-been-a-bedroom. Barton had taken off for the city earlier that morning, leaving Buck to fend for himself. At least the contents of this room largely resided in boxes.

While he’d admit having Barton to help made things go faster, Buck found he didn’t mind sorting through the remnants of Aunt Rosie’s life. They’d always been close, and part of his want to reopen the bookshop was rooted in bringing a piece of her memory back. Rosie loved the place. She’d spent her life there, and she’d given Buck a chance a new one, whether he was ready for it or not.

The last box had a bit of water damage on the outside. Buck checked the flooring, walls, and ceiling. No sign of a leak. Still, he unfolded the flaps carefully, prepare for more clothes, or dishes, or knick-nacks. His own face stared up at him instead, a younger, brighter version wearing his graduation gown, grinning at the camera between two older women: his ma and Aunt Rosie.

Buck sat on the floor of the now empty room, cradling the photo in his lap. It felt like a century since they’d taken that photo. He kinda missed the undercut, the way he used to style the longer top section of his hair. He’d refused to wear the graduation cap because you just can’t style something that bland. Buck scrubbed a hand through his hair now. He probably should have brushed it, but he tossed it up into a top knot and hey, who was he trying to impress? Dust bunnies?

He set the frame aside. It wasn’t damaged, just in need of a good dusting and a polish. Beneath the photograph were dozens of pages of loose graph paper, some faded into blankness, others crisp as the day the designs had been drafted. He’d kept all the best ones for his portfolio, but he remembered gifting Rosie a couple of the award winners. Those remained pristine, as neatly framed as his graduation photo had been. 

It sent a pang through him; he missed that life, missed Aunt Rosie, missed the carefree, confident version of himself. He took the frames and whatever else he could salvage from the box and moved them into the room opposite in the tiny hall. Buck had started converting it into a little lounge slash snack room that Barton had already managed to weasel a coffee machine into.

They’d talked about it, on and off; more accurately, Barton had talked and Buck pretended he was listening. Several months of rehab left Buck almost able to write his name legibly. Forget drafting. Sure, it was a process. Hard work. Exercise. Practice. It took time to rebuild dexterity. Still, the idea of getting back into architecture churned in Bucky’s gut. He loved it. He missed it. But the thought made his skin crawl and his stomach churn.

He plodded back downstairs. He may not be able to hold a pen, but his ability to ignore things had improved tremendously. Like the need to eat. Buck pressed a hand to his belly, then glanced at the clock. Not quite 2pm. It might not be too late to pop next door for a snack and maybe a dash more flirting.

Bucky dusted himself off, hoping he managed to achieve hot mess, and slipped over to the next building. Steve glanced up at him when the bell above the door chimed, a crooked smile twitching his lips. Immediately, Buck felt warmer. He liked it there, and the eye candy didn’t hurt, either.

Steve smiled when Buck slid through the door, that damn nervous kick behind his ribs actin’ up. “Hey,” he called. “We’re just cleaning up. Flip the closed sign?”

Buck did as asked. “You don’t mind me coming in?”

“Not if you don’t mind keeping us company,” Steve answered, shouldering open the kitchen door to drop off the empty trays he’d been holding. DumDum huffed when Steve tipped them into the sink and promptly exited the kitchen again. “Tea? You hungry?”

“Starving.” Buck flopped over his usual table in the corner.

Steve set the water to heat before bringing the rest of the trays to the back. He plated up one of the last blueberry muffins and brought it and the tea over to Buck once it was ready. Even disheveled, the guy was hot. It wasn’t until Bucky sat up that Steve noticed the set to his shoulders and the sad smile as Buck took a sip of his drink.

“You know this,” he said, pointing to the cup. “Best thing to happen to me all year.”

“Oh yeah?” Keep it light, Steve. Don’t push. “Low bar, huh?” Fuck.

Buck snorted. “Not that low.” He tilted his head. “Kinda low, yeah. Least I get to stare at you while enjoying my tea.”

“Aw, you’re welcome any time, pretty boy,” DumDum answered, knocking into Steve’s shoulder.

Buck laughed. “Your wife know you flirt with all the boys, Tim?”

“She’s always telling me I need a hobby. Never said I couldn’t.” He picked up the remaining trays from the counter and returned to the back.

He cleared his throat and pushed the muffin toward Buck. “How low we talking?”

The other man turned to look out the window. “You ever have a year so bad, you think it can’t possibly get worse, and then the bottom drops out from under you and you realize that what you thought was rock bottom was like, half way down, and you look up and the only thing you got is ‘Well, fuck?’”

“I was in the army.”

Buck aimed a finger gun at him. “Touché.”

The awkward pause had Steve trying not shift in discomfort. “So, uh, what’s going on?”

“Finished cleaning out the second room upstairs. Turned it to not be such a great idea. I found a bunch of old family photos and stuff, and it was harder than I expected it to be. Part of me feels like getting rid of everything was like getting rid of parts of Rosie’s life, but then I guess that’s how she got where she was in the first place, hanging on to scraps of other people. Should have made Barton do it,” he added.

“Where is Clint?” Steve asked.

“Work. He actually had to make an appearance at the office. Pants were involved. He’s terribly upset about it.”

Steve chuckled. “Sorry you had a rough time. I know a bit of what you mean. When my ma died, going through her things felt like hell. But you’re done now?”

“Yeah,” Buck said. “Gonna make Barton take the rest to the trash, but yeah. Then we figure out what to do with the place.”

Steve smiled. He’d heard Buck questioning DumDum on the bakery’s name. “No ideas?”

“Ha ha. But actually, no. I never really envisioned myself owning a bookstore, but I can’t sell it. Feels too final, ya know? There’s no overhead, so it’s not hurting anything to hang on to it for a bit. Plus there’s still some renovation to do. Gotta love a project that ain’t a boyfriend.”

He snorted. “Can’t say I’ve had one of those.”

“Ten outta ten, don’t recommend. One was more than enough.”

Barton had a disaster streak sure, but he couldn’t be that bad. Steve picked up Buck’s empty plate and cup. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re smart and creative. I know you’ll figure it out.”

Buck’s shoulders shook on a silent laugh as he headed for the door. “You’re secretly glad I’ll still be next door for a while longer.”

Steve waved him off as Buck headed out, ignoring the damn flutter behind his ribs. Buck wasn’t wrong. And no one said Steve couldn’t look.


	5. Exes and Nos

Buck felt _tired_ , down to his bones. Therapy days always sucked, but this Tuesday in particular had kicked his ass down the street and back up again. Bicep curls with a 3lb hand weight had never killed him before, but his arm felt ready to fall off. At least he could grip the damn thing. As a reward, Clint had promised to take Buck to lunch, and of course Buck needled him into a visit to the bakery. Steve made lemon bars on Tuesdays. 

He probably shouldn’t proud of knowing that. Whatever. Lemons bars were his favorite. 

Clint idly chatted about his day, the accounts he’d work on, and mostly importantly, the dogs he’d got to pet. “Oh, there was this one dog when I was in Bed-Stuy. What a good boy. I got to pet him and gave him my pizza crust.”

“Yeah? We should get a dog.” He’d mentioned it a time or two, but they’d never really gone looking. A dog would be good for them. Maybe easy their collective PTSD. Who didn’t love dogs?

Clint stopped dead outside the bakery. “Seriously?! You mean it?”

Buck smirked. “Yeah. Why not? Your pizza dog up for adoption?”

His smile faded. “No. He belongs to someone I strongly suspect is part of the Tracksuit Mafia.” The grin returned. “But we can check out the shelters I volunteer for this weekend and see if they have a good fit for us.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Buck found himself squished into a hug, Clint pressing a kiss to his cheek. He chuckled, pushing open the bakery doors as Clint went on. “We’re gonna be the best doggo daddies.”

He just shook his head as they stepped into line. Steve bustled behind the counter and Buck took a moment to appreciate how pretty the guy looked. It should be illegal to be that hot with a beard. He’d be so absorbed in watching Steve move that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the tall woman at the front of line turned to leave, stopped, and snapped, “Barton?”

Clint’s spine snapped straight, his shoulders down and back in a perfect military posture. Buck whistled. Behind the counter, even Steve had snapped to attention. “You gotta teach me to do that.”

The woman smiled, laughed. Clint’s glance cut over to Bucky as he flushed and slowly relaxed. “Ma’am—uh—Hill.” He waved, a little awkward. “Uh, hi.”

Buck’s grin widened. It’d been a long time since Buck had seen her, but he’d always liked Clint’s former CO. “Hey, Maria. What a surprise! What are you doing in New York?”

“Hello, James. Don’t tell me you haven’t gotten this one trained yet.”

Clint, baffled, mouthed “trained?”

“He’s housebroken. Best I could do,” Buck says with a shrug.

Clint’s jaw dropped with indignation. “Now what a minute!”

From the corner of his eye, Buck could see Tim poke his head out of the kitchen, a delighted look on his face. Maria’s expression was equally amused. “He takes a firm hand.”

Tim, still wearing his shit-eating grin, came around to hand Maria her coffee and a brookie. Clint continued staring, somewhere between uncertain and offended.

Buck chuckled. “No doubt. How long are you in town? We need to go out. I know this great bar on 43rd. You’ll love it.”

“I’m trying to find a place in the city. Somewhere. My job transferred me from DC to the Manhattan branch, but I’ll be commuting back and forth for a couple of months. And yes. Drinks, please.”

“Perfect. I’ll keep an eye out for anything you might like. Here’s my number; we’ll set up a date. And you are absolutely coming over for dinner.”

Maria’s smile took a sharp turn, flicking her gaze back over to Clint. “Sounds good, James. Barton,” she said, nodding once before sliding out the bakery door. Clint immediately flopped into a chair and gently banged his head against the table.

Buck looked over at him, head inclined. The moment Buck had met Maria, they’d gotten on like a house on fire. “What? I thought you wanted us to be friends.”

Clint kept banging his head. “Why? Why am I so awkward? I never used to be awkward.”

“Don’t worry, Clint. You’ll get the girl next time. Promise.”

The whine that escaped Clint’s throat was nothing short of pathetic. Steve and Tim had wandered over, Tim with a coffee for Clint, and Steve with Buck’s tea. “So,” Steve started. “She was your CO?”

Happily taking his tea, Buck smiled. “Maria Hill is everyone’s CO. She’s fantastic. I love her. Makes me wish I was more interested in women.”

Tim waggled his eyebrows. “Like ‘em bossy, do ya, Buck?”

Buck opened his arms. “It’s the uniform. Can’t help it.”

Clint sat up and grinned, back to his usual self. “He the uniforms, dress blues especially. He damn near mauled me the first time he saw me in them.”

For fuck’s sake, Barton. Buck dropped his arms. “I did not. I told you your ass looked fantastic in those slacks and your coat fit your shoulders perfectly. I did not maul you. My boyfriend would not have appreciated that.”

Steve quirked a brow. Clint’s expression shifted into anger. “I hope Brock chokes to death in a dark alley.”

“Can’t say I disagree but the alley doesn’t deserve that kinda treatment.”

Clint said something that sounded vicious in another language. He _hated_ Brock. To be fair, Brock had hated him just as much. He’d hated everyone, including Buck, but no one as much as himself. And Buck knew it. He stayed in that relationship for five years, some vague thought that if he just tried hard enough, he could fix things. Brock had been an asshole. And he’d been mean.

“I threw him out. You can’t just casually murder people.”

The look Clint gave clearly said, ‘yes I can.’ “He didn’t treat you right. He didn’t love you, he just loved what you provided.”

Buck shrugged. Yeah. He should have ended it way sooner. “Is it wrong I kinda enjoyed the hate sex?””

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, later I found out Brock was a fascist. I’m clearly better off without him.” Buck turned to DumDum. “I’m not here to talk about my bad taste in men. It’s Tuesday. I want the lemon bars.”

DumDum chuckled, slinging his arm around Buck’s shoulders and walking him to the counter.

Steve blinked. “I punched a nazi once,” he said, absentmindedly. “Tim has video.”

Clint grinned with his whole self. “Can I see it?”

“Hey Tim? You still got The Video?”

Buck looked at DumDum. He could hear the capital letters in that question. From the pure glee on the other man’s face, Buck knew they were in for something. DumDum hurried into the back and returned with a tablet. Buck followed him back to the table where Steve and Clint had been chatting. 

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s… not my finest moment.”

The look on Clint’s face said this was now the best day of his life as he watched Steve clock a guy dead on. The guy dropped like a sack of potatoes. Still beaming, Clint poked Steve’s arm. “That was hot. Man, your biceps. And that jaw muscle thing.”

“Jawline of Justice,” DumDum and Steve said at the same time, DumDum delighted to his core, Steve sounded resigned as he face-palmed. 

“Jawline of Justice,” Clint echoed, in awe. He turned to Buck, who had moved to leave over Steve’s shoulder. Holy shit, the guy radiated heat like a furnace. Buck resisted the urge to curl up in his lap. “I need to add punching nazis to my list of turn ons.” 

“Noted.” Buck set his hand against Steve’s shoulder. He was stacked, and god damn, Buck had it bad. “I’ll leave the punching to you. It was pretty hot.”

Steve startled at bit and looked like he wanted to say something, but the bell rang and Steve sprang into action, murmuring, “Customers.”

Clint held the tablet reverently, rewatching the video. Buck turned to DumDum. “He’s gonna want a copy. 

“It’s a beautiful experience. Thank you. You get your lemon bars?”

Buck help up the bag. DumDum had given him three. His goal was not to eat them all immediately.

“You fellas busy tonight? Some of the guys are in town and we’re hitting up this burger and wing joint. You want in?”

Clint looked up at Buck, who shrugged. It’d been a long time since he’d gone out, longer since he had friends other than Clint to go out with. Plus, he’d take any excuse to get to know Steve better. “Sure. Text me the details. We’ll meet you there.”

By some miracle, they weren’t late, even though Clint stopped to pet two dogs on the way to the bar. Buck couldn’t help the little nervous kick in his chest; this was not a date. It was, in fact, very far from a date. Nothing about going to dinner to meet Steve’s friends was a date. The more he thought about it, the more awkward and uncomfortable Buck felt. He shifted his shoulders. DumDum said the whole thing was a casual, drop-in hang-out. Still, Buck couldn’t shake the odd feeling he had. Maybe it was just nerves. He meant it when he’d said he hadn’t been out in a long time.

Clint paused. “You okay?”

“Maybe this was a bad idea. I feel weird. Is it weird?”

“Meeting friends for dinner?”

“Meeting Steve and Tim’s friends. I’m getting that third wheel vibe.”

Clint shrugged. “We can ditch. Grab something else, head home and watch some crappy TV show you say you hate but secretly love.”

“Too late.” Buck winced. Tim waved at them from the other side of the glass.

“Okay, so we pop in, say hey, do a little socializing and then bolt,” Clint said. “They said it wasn’t gonna be a late one. Gotta bakery to run and all.”

Quashing his nervous energy, Buck nodded. “Get some wings, say hey, head out.”

Whatever voice in the back of his head warning him about social interaction immediately shut its fucking mouth the minute Buck stepped through the door. The bar felt warm and inviting, DumDum grinning like a manic from their booth. Buck found himself swiftly ushered in beside Steve, and swept in the easy chatter. Clint fistbumped a handsome Black man Buck learned was named Gabe. He smiled and shook hands, DumDum making introductions and talking over everyone to bring up embarrassing Military Steve stories.

Buck ate it up. Jim, as Steve had mentioned, was the seasonal fruit connection visiting from California. They were missing their Frenchman, Jacques, and their Brit, Falsworth, both currently overseas. They’d all settled into an rapport when the sound of broken glass and shouts came from the bar. Buck and Clint both turned, catching a glimpse of red hair between tall, angry men.

Clint snaked his way up and out of the booth as drinks started flying. Buck sighed. At least with Clint’s help, the fight was short-lived. He returned with the redhead, a smirk on her lips and not a hair out of place.

“Sorry I’m late, boys.”

Casually, Buck handed Clint a napkin for his split lip. Steve grinned, shaking his head as he looked at the woman. “Can you ever not start a bar fight?”

“Nope,” she answered, popping the P at the end.

Steve chuckled. DumDum grinned wider. “This firecracker is Natasha. I see you already met Clint, the strangely adorable—no, we can’t figure it out either—disaster that waded into your brawl. And this delicious hunk of a man is Buck, and he loves my hot buns.” He winked.

Buck choked on his water. Clint pouted at the new bloodstain on his shirt, muttering, “Aw, shirt, no,” as he dabbed at it. 

Somehow, Buck managed to a find a little bit of dignity. Probably the last of it. “You one of the Howlies, too?”

“No. I’m… what would say, Steve?”

“Chaos agent. Recon and surveillance. Scuffle enthusiast.”

Buck laughed. “Oh, so she’s your Clint.”

“Guess so,” Steve answered, then took a sip of his beer.

Nat raised a perfectly arched brow at Bucky. He explained. “Clint is a former Marine who also can’t resist a fight and trips over pencil marks on the ground.”

She looked over at Clint, now occupied with a service animal trainer and their dog.

“He’s a marshmallow,” DumDum added.

Clint returned well into their meal, launching into how the service dog trainer belonged to a pro-bono organization running on donations, and how they were currently looking for financial help.

“Leave it to you to build a business that also allows you to pet the clientele,” Buck said.

“You’re just jealous.”

“I could make a tail chasing joke, but I think I’ll leave it.” Clint stuck his tongue out at him. Buck smirked.

“I’m telling Maria you’re being mean to me.”

“She’ll probably buy me dinner.”

“Wow. Rude.”

Steve cleared his throat. “So she’s really your CO?”

Clint nodded. “She’s kinda terrifying. It’s great.” He visibly melted. “I don’t remember a lot about getting blown up, but I have this clear memory of her leaning over me and I couldn’t hear a damn thing, but I knew she was yelling, eyes wild. It’s the only time I ever remember seeing her afraid.” He shook himself, refocusing on the group. “But yeah. That’s Hill. She and Buck are best friends and I still don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing for me.”

Natasha perked up. “Maria Hill? I’ve heard of her. She’s got an impressive resume. And if Hill likes you…” She didn’t bother finishing her sentence. Instead a shark grin spread across her lips. 

To Bucky’s horror, Clint mirrored it. “Oh fuck. My disaster and your disaster just became best friends,” he groaned, leaning into Steve.

“You think it’s gonna be that bad?”

Buck gave him a flat expression. “I have a jar of bail money under my bed, just in case.”

Steve blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. Had to use it once in college.”

The conversation eventually wound down and they made their way out, Clint sticking close to Nat and DumDum what Buck would bet good money was an effort to net him some more one-on-one time with Steve.

“Well,” Buck said, “that was interesting. Definitely fun.”

“Pretty standard for us, actually. It’s nice having the guys and Nat around.”

“They really love you. It’s obvious.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, the color rising in his cheeks. “They’re good people. I’m grateful for them. That they stuck with me.”

Buck smiled, leaning into the flirtation, delighted when Steve seemed to reciprocate. He had gorgeous eyes, and that beard and okay, it should be a crime to be that handsome.

From the back seat of the cab, Natasha cleared her throat, and that was that. Steve stepped back and Buck tried not to sigh. 

“C’mon, Clint. We’ll get Natasha’s number and arrange a playdate later,” Buck said. He wished for the old confidence that would have at least ended his night with a kiss.

Clint’s expression turned sad as he waved to Nat and DumDum. Buck tried not to look disappointed as he thanked them for inviting them out and made his goodbyes.

Steve waved, feeling awkward. He waited until Buck and Clint turned the corner before knocking his head into the brick wall behind him, eyes screwed shut. Fucking stubborn crush.

“Why isn’t taking Mr. Manbun home?” Nat asked. Steve knew the nonchalance in her voice was really judgement.

“Because he’s a dumbass.”

Steve couldn’t disagree, exactly.

“Steve, man,” Tim said, “you know you’d have a lot less angst if you just asked him out.”

Anger flashed through him, killing his buzz. “No. I don’t date people in relationships, Tim. Not anymore.”

Tim stared at him. “What?”

“You know what happened. I got my heart broken, and I ain’t keen on doing that again.”

His brow furrowed. “Steve. Buck isn’t in a relationship.”

Steve scoffed. Sure, his nickname was DumDum, but Tim had never been dense. “Tall, blonde, thinks coffee is a food group?”

“Listen to me. Buck and Clint are not together. They’re not dating. They’re not a couple.”

Crossing his arms, Steve clenched his jaw. “They have pet names. They’re physically affectionate. They say they love each other.”

Tim rolled his eyes, moving back toward the waiting cab. “No law saying guys can’t be affectionate. Believe me or don’t, Steve, but maybe you should actually talk to Buck because that guy’s been pining over you as bad as you’re pining over him. Why else do you think he shows up before the shop opens? It ain’t my hot buns he’s wanting.”

He blew out a breath, opening his mouth to argue when Tim cut him off. 

“Believe me, don’t, or you know, actually talk to the guy about it. Your choice. Doesn’t seem to me this crush of yours is going away. Think about it on your walk home cause the way you’re going now, you’re gonna be pissed off and lonely a long time.”

Tim got into the cab next to Natasha, leaving Steve on the sidewalk alone. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he started his walk home, angry at Tim, and angry at himself.


End file.
